


Show Me Your Tricks

by redoak



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brotherhood, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redoak/pseuds/redoak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times d’Artagnan gets what he wants with Porthos’ and Aramis’ tricks and one time Athos approves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Your Tricks

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that moment in season 1, episode 2 when Aramis and Porthos look at d'Artagnan like proud parents after sending him off to fight.

1.

D’Artagnan hefts his sword in his hand and watches Athos roll his shoulders in the middle of the training yard. Porthos and Aramis hover at his side, giving last minute advice. 

Porthos’ heavy palm lands on his shoulder. “Remember,” he whispers urgently, “The rules are that there are no rules. Use your teeth, your nails - whatever you need to create a distraction.”

Aramis leans in on his other side. “He will try to taunt you. Ignore the words and keep your head on straight, no matter what.” 

D’Artagnan nods impatiently, having already heard their advice before. “Please, you make it sound easier than it is,” he says, brushing them off. Porthos grins and gives him a bracing pat before pushing him out to meet Athos.

Athos stands with his feet apart and arms loose at his sides, the picture of confidence. He watches as d’Artagnan approaches, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He jerks his head in the direction of Porthos and Aramis at the sidelines. “Don’t listen to what they say, d’Artagnan, they’re horrible teachers, both of them.”

“We’ll see,” d’Artagnan scoffs, lifting his sword in an offensive stance. “Ready?”

Athos simply assumes a defensive pose in response. He crooks his fingers and d’Artagnan leaps at him. Right away, Athos opens his mouth, spewing insults about d’Artagnan’s upbringing. D’Artagnan sees his lips move, but keeps his focus on the motion of his hands and feet, the ringing of clashing steel.

D’Artagnan missteps and stumbles to one knee, and Athos’ sword comes sweeping down towards his neck. Desperately, he throws his sword up and just blocks Athos’ blow. His forearm comes pressing down and d’Artagnan sees his chance. Lunging upwards, he closes his teeth around the flesh of his arm and bites down hard through his sleeve. Dimly, he hears a roar of laughter from Porthos.

Athos swears and jerks his arm away. Quick as a snake, d’Artagnan follows his movement and darts in to knock his sword out of his grasp. He kicks it out of reach and points his own at Athos’ throat.

The sound of applause filters back into his senses. Breathing heavily, he lowers his weapon and grins at Athos, who accepts his defeat with a gracious nod.

“Well done!” Aramis runs over, throwing his arm around his shoulders and slapping his chest. 

Porthos is next, reaching over to ruffle his hair vigorously. “And that is the right way to do it,” he says proudly, smile stretching wide across his face.

D’Artagnan laughs and accepts their compliments. He peers through the tangle of their limbs to find Athos smiling fondly at him. “Next time,” their leader says, walking closer, “We’ll see if you can beat me without using Porthos’ dirty tricks.”

Porthos scoffs and turns to lead d’Artagnan away. “Nonsense. Aramis and I have taught you well. Nothing could make us more proud.”

 

2.

They’re in a dim, raucous tavern. D’Artagnan sits at a table, holding five cards in one hand and casually flipping two coins between the fingers of the other. His opponent, a member of the Red Guard, sits across from him and darts his eyes nervously back and forth between his hand and d’Artagnan. Porthos leans against the wall behind him, watching carefully, while Aramis and Athos drink and observe from a nearby table.

“Royal flush,” d’Artagnan says confidently, placing his hand on the table. The guard looks down in disbelief before throwing down his cards and pointing a dirt-stained finger at him.

“Cheat! You Musketeers have no honour in battle nor in gambling!” 

D’Artagnan leans back and spreads his arms wide. “It was a fair game, but if you question my honour, I will gladly duel with you to prove you wrong.” Over his shoulder, Porthos snorts and d’Artagnan rests his hand easily on the hilt of his sword. 

The guard stares at him, sizing him up, eyes glaring hot and contemptuously. He glances at Porthos, who draws his shoulders back and lets his hand drift to his sword. The guard shakes his head and with a nasty snarl, spins on his heel and stalks out of the tavern. 

Porthos meets d’Artagnan’s eyes and they both burst out laughing. D’Artagnan winks, reaching into his sleeve and sliding out an ace of spades. Porthos claps a large, warm hand on his back and gasps out, “That’s it! You’re learning all my tricks!” He dissolves into helpless laughter again. 

Aramis and Athos arrive at their table, Aramis with a grin and Athos shaking his head. “Really, d’Artagnan,” he chastises in a bored tone, but his blue eyes glint in the candlelight. “Porthos is teaching you to cheat in far too many things.”

D’Artagnan only smiles back innocently, scooping up the coins on the table. “I really don’t know what you mean, Athos. Now, who wants another drink?”

 

3.

“Really, Madame, your pastries are absolutely delightful. I’ve never tasted anything sweeter.” D’Artagnan smiles charmingly while the young woman behind the vendor stall giggles helplessly. He glances to the side quickly and sees Aramis nod encouragingly from his position around the corner and Porthos craning his neck behind him. Athos is off to the side, pretending to shop for plums while actually watching d’Artagnan. 

“Monsieur, you are too kind,” the woman demures. He jerks his eyes back to her and widens them in a look of adoration. She looks at him shyly through her lashes.

“Well,” d’Artagnan amends, “Maybe not as sweet as your smile.” He takes her hand and bends slowly to press his lips against her knuckles, maintaining their eye contact the whole time. The woman’s face goes as red as her hair.

“Please, Monsieur, take some more. On me, this time,” she whispers, surreptitiously slipping him extra pastries into his basket. “It’s a new recipe - I hope you’ll enjoy this one.” She hands him the basket and he brushes her fingers when he accepts it.

“You are too kind, Madame.” He holds her gaze for a moment longer, then nods in farewell and slips around the corner.

D’Artagnan only has to wait a few seconds before his friends descend on him and his basket of pastries. 

Porthos is the first to shove his hand forward. He takes a gusty bite out of one and closes his eyes. “Dear God, these are delicious,” he moans. 

Athos nods in agreement. “They are quite good,” he allows. “I must say, I didn’t think your bribery would actually work.”

D’Artagnan scoffs and Aramis squawks indignantly. “Ye of little faith, of course it did!” Aramis exclaims around a mouthful. “Charm can get you anything in life, and d’Artagnan has the best teacher.” He takes another bite and his eyes roll back in his head. 

Athos shakes his head mournfully. “You pigs. What will d’Artagnan’s poor father think of the Musketeers corrupting his son?”

D’Artagnan only grins and hands him another pastry.

 

4.

The four of them stand in a line in front of the yelling, red-faced captain, receiving a severe dressing down in the courtyard of the garrison.The other Musketeers passing by snigger behind their hands.

“-completely irresponsible, looking like fools in front of the Red Guard! You are the King’s Musketeers, you should have known better than to do that! For the love of God, control your drinking, control your temper, and stop starting brawls in taverns!” Treville’s voice rises to a screaming pitch as he jabs a gloved finger at the two culprits.

Porthos and Aramis look straight ahead, unable to make eye contact with Treville. Their feathered hats are pulled low over their eyes to block out the sun, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing Porthos’ black eye and Aramis’ puffy, split lip - a dead giveaway of the drunken fight from the previous night. Athos stands looking as unruffled as always, and d’Artagnan glances nervously between all of them.

At a pause in Treville’s shouting, d’Artagnan speaks up. “Captain,” he begins sincerely, looking at him through his fringe with wide, brown eyes, “They were speaking ill of the Musketeer regiment. We turned to ignore them, but they grabbed us and threw the first punch.” He nodded earnestly.

Treville gave d’Artagnan the stink eye, but he could see him crumbling under the force of his wide doe eyes. “Oh, alright. But only because this is your first act of misconduct, I’m letting you off the hook. The rest of you, you’re on stable duty for the rest of the day. Dismissed.” Treville turns sharply on his heel and stomps back to his office.

The three of them turn to d’Artagnan as soon as his door slams shut, all with identical looks of disbelief. Porthos is squinting at him through his one good eye. “Good for you, bluffing your way out of punishment,” he says gruffly but with a hint of pride. “I can’t believe the captain bought it.”

“It’s not like you two haven’t done the same before. You’re old now, your days of pulling off wide-eyed looks of innocence are gone,” Athos replies. “And you’ve dragged me into stable duty with you.” 

Aramis gives Athos a bracing clap on the shoulder, lip still too swollen to speak much, but Athos nods and accepts his gesture of solidarity. 

D’Artagnan smiles and shrugs. “See you later. Have fun shovelling!” He flounces away to the sounds of grumbling.

 

5.

King Louis’ laughter echoes loudly across the dining room, over the sounds of chattering voices and the scrape of forks on dishes. The feast is in full swing and all the rich lords and ladies are in attendance. D’Artagnan and Aramis stand guard on one side of the room, with Athos and Porthos on the other. D’Artagnan is bored out of his mind.

“Aramis,” he groans, lolling his head against the smooth stone wall to face the older man. “I wanted to become a Musketeer for the excitement and adventure.”

Aramis pats his arm distractedly, his eyes fixed on something near the back of the room. “But how would we entice anyone to join if we told them otherwise? Anyway, I don’t find this boring.” He leans in toward d’Artagnan to whisper in his ear, ”See that lady in the blue gown? Her husband is busy at the other end of the table and she’s been watching me all night.” As if on cue, the woman looks up and quickly glances away when she sees both men staring at her, a coy smile touching her lips. 

D’Artagnan rolls his eyes. “Well, I’m bored, and all this food is making me hungry.” He eyes the shiny red apples in a fruit bowl and his stomach growls loudly. 

“Here, let’s play a game,” Aramis says, still watching the woman. “I’ll go and distract her, and you can grab the apples. What do you think?” 

D’Artagnan sighs loudly. “I think you have your own personal reasons, but fine. First move is yours.” 

He watches as Aramis pushes off the wall and sways confidently toward her. She looks up as he approaches, and he takes off his hat and gives a small bow. “My lady,” he begins charmingly, “Don’t you look beautiful tonight.”

D’Artagnan waits until Aramis has her full attention before he sneaks around to her other side and snatches an apple. As he flees back toward his post at the wall, he catches Athos’ eye from across the room. He grins sheepishly as Athos levels a glare at him. Next to him, Porthos’ shoulders shake in silent laughter.

He leans against the wall and pulls out his knife, starting to cut out slices of apple. A few moments later, Aramis rejoins him with an apple of his own. 

“Very good, my young pupil. A well-executed plan, if I do say so myself.”

D’Artagnan laughs and holds out a piece of apple for him. “A truly daring mission.”

 

+1.

D’Artagnan drops his head back against the cold stone wall. Weak sunlight filters through the barred window, illuminating the dust motes dancing above the straw-covered floor. He lifts his hands to rub his forehead, the shackles on his wrists clanging loudly. 

In the cell next to him, Athos groans and stirs from his prone position on the ground. He pushes himself up on his hands and looks over at d’Artagnan, blinking in confusion. 

D’Artagnan smiles ruefully at him. “Those Spanish soldiers knocked you out hard. Might want to check the back of your head for a bump.”

Athos gives him a look. “You’re not funny, d’Artagnan. How about you use your brain to think of a way to escape instead?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing while you were getting your beauty sleep there? That’s more than-“ D’Artagnan cuts himself off at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. They come closer, and a guard stops in front of his cell. He holds a plate with a piece of bread and unlocks the door. D’Artagnan glares at him as he saunters in and drops the plate on the floor, the bread rolling across the dirty straw. The guard sneers and says something in Spanish in a rude tone that has d’Artagnan’s hackles rising. D’Artagnan curses back, ignoring the alarmed look Athos is directing at him. 

Suddenly, a boot connects with his face and d’Artagnan sprawls backward. The guard steps closer and looms over him, smiling cruelly. D’Artagnan smiles back, waiting only a moment for him to falter before lifting his foot and aiming a hard kick between his legs. 

The guard screams and backs away, sinking to the floor in distress. D’Artagnan lifts his shackled arms and swings his fist at him, knocking the man out cold. He scrabbles at his waist to find the key ring and unlocks his bindings. Quickly, he leaves his cell and walks over to release Athos, only to find him staring with a stunned look on his face. 

“What?” he asks bluntly, fitting each key into the lock to find the right one. Hearing no reply, he looks up to see Athos in the same position. “Come on, Athos. Pull yourself together, we need to meet up with the others.”

Finally, the correct key clicks and the door opens with a small screech that makes them both wince. It draws Athos out of his stupor. “I must congratulate Porthos on teaching you his tricks. Seems like it did us some good this time.”

D’Artagnan grabs Athos’ hands to unlock his cuffs and smiles to himself.


End file.
